“Shoot.” He says, before realizing that’s probably not the best choice of words for this situation. He fights another grin at the flinch the word elicits.
She flinches slightly, and a shiver shoots down her spine before she looks back to Jim. ”What if it was me? You had a client…who wanted you to kill me, would you?” She looked directly into his eyes sadly, much like a puppy.
“Yes.” Jim answers, instantly. ”Though if it makes you feel any better I would charge them rather a lot for the service. And besides, no one will ask for your death. After all, aren’t you…innocent?” He raises an eyebrow.
She sighs and looks away. ”Maybe I’m not…” She shakes her head and looks back to him. ”So you don’t care about me? At all?”
“It’s my job, Molly.” He rolls his eyes, just a little. ”Whether I care about you or not is immaterial. If the police asked you to cut someone you’d known, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? It’s work. We all do things like that.”
She frowns, with a sudden rush of confidence and leans forwards. ”Answer the question, Jim. Do you care about me?”
“I did answer the question. ’It’s immaterial’.” He frowns.
She smiles and shakes her head. ”Brilliant. ‘Ooh I’m Jim, I can’t do emotions, rawr.’ ”
“I never said ‘rawr’,” He grumbles, “and as I see it, how much I care or don’t care about you is really none of your business unless I should choose to divulge the information.”
She laughs and leans back, ”I’m going to take that as a yes.” She tilts her head slightly and stands in front of Jim. ”Stand up.”
“Why?” He asks, unwilling to obey any order right off the bat—it needs to be justified, dammit.